


Caesura

by aithne



Series: New Kirkwall (Modern AU) [9]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 09:56:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aithne/pseuds/aithne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas Howe has been freed from his captivity...and he has a few little loose ends to tie up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caesura

**Author's Note:**

> In our AU, Thomas Howe is Kahrin’s ex and Nathaniel’s unacknowledged half-brother/”cousin”. He was picked up by Rendon Howe’s men when Kahrin was kidnapped, and was held for a few months in an undisclosed location. 
> 
> Thomas’s captivity was dependent on a dead-man’s switch that Rendon, being currently in jail and pretty pissed about it, didn’t bother to prevent being thrown. So now Thomas is out, and he’s coming after Nathaniel and Kahrin.
> 
> Nathaniel is currently working as a professor’s assistant in the University of Kirkwall music department. Warren is his boyfriend.
> 
> TW: slut shaming, misogynist asshole POV. Lots of guns and drugs. Pretty explicit description of violence, implied sexual violence. Shooting on a campus. Major character death. (No seriously, if the thought of a certain archer dying upsets you, do not read this.)

Check the gun. Check the clip. Check the silencer.

Pace, window to door to window.  _I’m ready. It’s time. We’re going home._

There was just a thing or two that needed to be done first.

Thomas Howe sat down heavily on the narrow mattress in this narrow room and set the gun down next to him. Tingles swept over his scalp, and he twitched. _Ignore that._  He’d woken up two days ago to discover that the door to the room he’d been kept in for who knew how long was standing open, and the guards were gone.

He’d walked away, into freedom. It felt bad. He should have been able to kill the fuckers who’d held him. He knew it was fucking Rendon who’d hired them. Nobody else would have dared. He was a  _Howe_. That meant something. Even here.

He’d gotten in touch with his suppliers. Gotten an advance on some stuff. It had calmed him down at first, but now the rage was curdling in his gut and he couldn’t stop fiddling with the gun.  _Paper. Read the paper._

The paper had two entries on it. One was the name of a building at the university. _Room 321. 2-6PM. Soundproofed._  Good, good. That was good. Students dressed sloppily and carried big backpacks. He’d need a shower, though. He’d arrive around three; he’d bet that he’d catch Nathaniel in a lull between students then.

Fucking Nathaniel. The cousin who had  _everything_  and had thrown it away. Not like Thomas, who’d had  _nothing_. He’d built everything he had out of nothing and fucking Rendon had very nearly taken it all away. It was going to feel really good to pull the trigger. He jiggled his knee. Checked the clip again.

The other entry on the paper was in a different handwriting.  _Flintofts Funeral Home. Noon to 6pm._ It was almost beautiful, how everything matched up. He could just drive over and pick up Kahrin when she got off work. Easy as pie. She’d crumble once he told her Nathaniel was dead. She’d come with him, and they could drive away.  _We’ll be happy together. Finally._  It would work this time.

It would.

It would, or he would  _make_  it work.

He checked the clip again. It was almost time for another dose.

#

The subway was crowded. That was good. The more people, the less chance that someone would pick him out on a surveillance camera, at least for a while. By the time they did, they’d be long gone.

“University Station, next stop, exit to the left. University Station, next stop.”

Thomas stuck his hand into his pocket, fingered a key. There was a car waiting for him, parked in one of the student parking lots. He was Thomas Howe. Thomas Howe could make things happen. Like cars, when cars were needed. And guns.

He had a couple of those in his backpack.  _I’m a college kid,_  he told himself.  _Not a care in the fucking world._  He leaned back against the hard plastic of the seat, spreading out his legs. There was a slight tremor in his hands. He ignored it. He wore a dark grey hoodie, black gloves. It was cold enough to justify the gloves. It was his lucky day.

Life was good. Freedom was good. Being able to get his hands on the shit that made life worth living, that was good too.

Getting his hands on Kahrin again, that would be the best. His mouth relaxed into a smile.  _And once I have you back and under control, we’ll see what old Rendon has to say._  Nathaniel had lost control of her. If Thomas could bring her to heel…

He hated the old fuck. But his approval would be useful.

He’d been a triggerman for the old man exactly once. It had been the best payout he’d seen in his life so far—he’d been seventeen at the time. There had been other paydays since then, bigger ones, but that first one had been sweet.  _Maybe I can get in good with him. Get him to trust me. Then, boom._

 _Boom._  He stifled a broad grin.

Oh, yeah. They would all get what was coming to them. It was too bad none of them would live long enough to regret fucking with Thomas Howe.

The subway car lurched to a halt, and he rose. He walked out of the car and onto the platform, strolling out like he didn’t have a care in the world. He was out in the world again, walking among the masses, a wolf among the flocks.

He emerged into the chill early winter air, strolling through the crowds. Pretty young things wearing too little clothing for the weather dodged around him, chattering to one another.  He ran his gaze over them, looking at their bare shoulders and only barely covered breasts. One of them shied away, noticing his eyes on her.  _Bitch,_  he thought genially.  _If you didn’t want people to look, you wouldn’t dress like that._

He hadn’t seen a woman for an eternity, hadn’t gotten laid since a couple of weeks before a bunch of guys tackled him to the ground and popped a bag over his head. He’d have to fix that.  _Soon._

The music building was a modern building with a lot of entrances and exits. He picked a side entrance that was used by a lot of students, heading up stairs made of what looked like speckled stone. The stairwell was filled with sound, people talking and shouting, random blats from wayward trumpets, music spilling out of practice rooms and rehearsal spaces.  _How do they stand it?_  he wondered. Someone dropped a piece of an instrument and burst into tears.  _Poor baby. Fucking fucks._

 _Blend in_ , he reminded himself. His backpack was heavy on his back.  _Get in, do the job, get out._  He stepped from the stairwell through a doorway on the third floor. It was noisy here too, muffled music spilling out from rehearsal rooms. There were fewer people in the hall here, and it looked like most of them were on their way elsewhere.

Room 321 was at the quieter end of the hall. It was a solid door, shut tightly. Thomas paused before he opened it, sliding his backpack from his back to one arm. Then he turned the knob and pushed the door open.

Music spilled out, assaulting him.

He stepped inside and let the door close quietly. There was Nathaniel, playing some sort of monster instrument in what looked to be a kind of trance. His head was bowed, eyes half-closed. He didn’t even notice Thomas was there.

He never had. Not until Thomas had stolen his girlfriend. Even then, Thomas wouldn’t swear that Nathaniel had ever really noticed him, at least not until the very end. By that time, it was too late.

Just like it was too late now.

Thomas unzipped his backpack a bit and pulled out the silenced .45. Fucking things were nearly impossible to carry concealed, and he hated silencers to begin with. They fucked with your aim.  Nathaniel didn’t even look up, just pulled the bow in a long, quavering arc.

_Too easy._

He brought the gun up in a smooth, practiced motion with both gloved hands, the muzzle of the silencer a bare few inches from Nathaniel’s temple, and breathed out.

Nathaniel began to react, blinking, hand faltering on the bow.

Thomas pulled the trigger. Once. Twice. He emptied the clip.

His hands didn’t shake. Not even a little.

#

He checked himself over, pulled off his hoodie and gloves and shoved them into the backpack along with the gun. Then he slipped out of the office, not sparing even a glance for the body of his cousin, slumped over his fucking stupid instrument. The bow had fallen to the floor with a clatter softer than the gunshots.

Thomas strolled out of the music building, a small smile on his face. Nobody noticed, nobody raised the alarm. He felt better, now. Stronger. He’d stop in a bit for a little of the stuff he was carrying. Make himself feel even better.

Life was good.

#

Warren took the stairs up to Nate’s office two at a time, carrying a rustling plastic bag with takeout containers inside. He grinned to himself, imagining the look on Nate’s face when he saw that Warren had brought dinner.

It had been a while since they’d had a weekend to themselves. Of course, they were going to be packing for part of it, but it would be nice to just relax for a couple of days before they moved to the new apartment next week. Maybe they’d go out and listen to a few bands, or something. They’d talked about doing that months ago but never managed it.

Now he just had to find Nate’s office. He’d only been up here once before, and Nate had been guiding him, so he hadn’t paid that much attention to the exact location of the office. They’d ended up making out against the door of his office, which was  _far_  more memorable than the office number.

He studied the names on the doors as he passed them, and paused in front of 321.  _Nathaniel Howe,_  the door said.

He shifted the takeout bag to his other hand, and reached out to open the door.


End file.
